


these streets will be lit by sun one day

by elliotfromseattle



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: 12x100, Child Death, Gen, i'm really sad abt recent game events and don't know how to tag this sorry xoxo elliot, technically teen death at this point but ya know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 12:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30139455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliotfromseattle/pseuds/elliotfromseattle
Summary: twelve short scenes about polkadot patterson and york silk
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	these streets will be lit by sun one day

**1**

It's pitch black in Baltimore and you're at the station, hoping no one recognizes you as the last train arrives. 

You adjust the massive hat you've wrapped your blonde hair under, fearful of the Mother Crab's reaction when she finds out you've defected. You'd barely lived here a year, but after seeing the "enhancements" the other players had gotten… 

There was no kind way to say that you wanted nothing to do with it.

You glance at the information board. Last stop Halifax. 

You shrug. 

Good enough.

You don't learn about the new kid's gunblade bat until the next day.

  
**2**

Pitching is easy.

All you have to do is strike people out as quickly as possible. 

You imagine a bright red dot on the catcher's glove. All you have to do is throw the ball at that dot as fast as you can every single time. 

It's a game of cat and mouse between yourself and the batter. If they're slow, they can't get a hit in. 

But it takes two to hit a home run. 

You laugh, sometimes, when the ball flies over your head and out of the park. 

It's the highest honor you can give a batter. 

  
**3**

Years pass before you see that gunblade bat in person. 

You're sitting on the beach, tracing lines in the sand with one finger as you watch Morse pitch. There's a batter on base, which you choose to count as strike one against him. 

The kid's up at bat, all smiles as he waits for the next pitch. 

The guy on first makes a run for it. 

Morse doesn't notice until it's too late.

Strike two. 

Defeat settles into his shoulders as he throws the next pitch. 

The kid swings with all he's got.

It's a two run homer. 

Strike three. 

  
**4**

You don't normally go to team bonding events, but the cookout is mandatory.

You stay away from Morse to avoid chewing him out and opt to sit near the kid instead, watching the characters move around on his Gameboy screen over his shoulder. 

"You wanna play, miss?"

He smiles up at you, one tooth missing. 

You shake your head, making excuses about how you couldn't possibly understand video games. 

He just shrugs and keeps playing. 

You glance at the solar eclipse in the sky and wonder what cruel god would give this kid a legendary bat and have him play. 

  
**5**

The night winds down. His mom comes over to try and get him into bed. 

_There's a game tomorrow_ , she coos, _You need your rest_.

He whines and complains and stamps his foot in the ground and he really is just a kid and she looks at you hopelessly, a faint smile on her face. 

He's such a dork, isn't he?

You smile back. Your first smile of the day.

You wonder why you soften up around this kid in a way you can't around your teammates. 

The season ends, and you never get the opportunity to pitch against him.

  
**6**

The season ends and something pangs in your gut. 

The kid's in danger. 

You catch the next flight to Hawai'i. 

You can practically taste the anxiety in the air. It reminds you of the days after Ruby Tuesday, awful as they were, in a way. All eyes are on him, stares and glances, thirteen watchful protectors clad in florals waiting to see what'll happen to this kid. 

"Dot," He looks up at you, gunblade in his hand, "Are things going to be okay?"

The shell hurtles towards him and before you can second-guess, you throw your body in its way. 

  
**7**

It's pitch black in the shell and you can barely feel your fingers, they've been trapped by your side for so long. 

The darkness surrounds you and consumes you and the only thought keeping you from falling into despair is that you saved him from this fate. At least you could do that much. 

A deafening crunch rings out in the air and you're still surrounded by darkness before you're released into the light with a ptooey and your team rejoices as you stand in a puddle of squid spit. 

That night, you learn that your sacrifice was for nothing. 

  
**8**

Two tentacles extend from the base of your neck down your back and you know you didn't have them before and that just the act of trying to protect the kid (a kid you barely even know) has permanently changed you. 

You wonder how much longer he's going to be trapped in there.

It turns out to only be a matter of days. 

The Shelled One descends, PODS in tow. 

The kid's tall now, a cocky smile on his face, hair white, eyes red, gunblade bat slung over his shoulders. 

The Shelled One calls him its dork and you scream. 

  
**9**

He takes the Shoe Thieves out and, a year later, he takes the Crabs out too, and all you can do is watch with horror. 

It's a constant internal tightrope between "how could this happen to such a sweet boy" and "could that have happened to me" and you curse every single god for having ever let such events come to pass. 

The monitor appears with its team, and your knuckles turn white from holding on to the last shard of hope you have. 

Hours later, a giant peanut shell crash lands in Halifax. 

You bust it open.

He's inside. 

  
**10**

He stands at the plate and you're on the mound and it's your first practice together and he's barely said a word since he's landed here and you really just cannot believe how tall he is. 

They say kids become teenagers when no one's looking but you never expected that to be so literal. 

You look at the catcher's glove for that bright red dot that lives in your mind and you throw the ball with force.

You see a twinkle in the kid's eye.

It takes two to hit a home run. 

He knocks it out of the park.

  
**11**

He's been getting along with the rest of the team. For that, you're grateful. Every so often you'll sit on Ziwa's couch and watch them all play Flortnite together. 

It takes two to hit a home run, a concept the Magic can't seem to grasp as they get foul after foul. You're glad you're not pitching. 

You're on the bench when it happens. He picks a fight with an ump. You've seen this story end too many times and you sprint for it, try to dive in front of him again. 

In a burst of fire and smoke he's gone. 

  
**12**

You could never protect everyone.

You've learned that time and time again, and yet the lesson keeps drilling itself into your skull. 

You can barely meet Mrs. Silk's eye when she comes. 

_We all knew it was a risk_ , you think you hear her mumble. 

_At least he died doing what he loved._

You see your reflection in a puddle on the ground and your face doesn't look like yours anymore. You wonder if the ump incinerated that too, or if you'd stopped recognizing yourself a long time ago. 

You feel your heart harden up as you head to practice. 

**Author's Note:**

> i was a friday before i became a firefighter before i became a garage, and york was the first character i ever latched on to. absolutely devastating news today lads
> 
> unrelated but i officially hate the 12x100 format lmao how do y'all keep churning these out
> 
> title from baby steps by black dresses


End file.
